


Empty

by SquiddyWiddy



Series: Trimberly Week [2]
Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Major mental illness trigger warning, Mental Health Issues, Not Happy, Trimberly week day 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquiddyWiddy/pseuds/SquiddyWiddy
Summary: She left. After two years, four months, and six days. She left her here alone. Broken, shattered, torn, and abandoned. And there's no real way to get over that.MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR MENTAL ILLNESSTitle and some lyrics from The Click Five's "Empty"





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read this if you are sensitive to mental illness triggers, especially for those of severe depression. There are no outright descriptions of any kind of action, but they are implied. Implied self harm, PTSD, and anxiety also. No sexual assault or any sexual content at all. No mentions of eating disorders. No mention of psychoactive disorders. 
> 
> Trimberly Week Day 2: Angst 
> 
> Very much angst
> 
> @squidooshbrethren on Tumblr

_Tried to take a picture of love_

 

The song faded in quietly. The memories faded in quickly.

 

_Didn’t think I’d miss her that much_

 

God, she fucking misses her.

 

_I want to fill this new frame_

 

She should get over it. It’s been months.

 

_But it’s empty_

 

She was so, so empty. The pounding of the rain echoed off the walls of her hollow heart. She stared out the window and into the barren street below. There were few out in this storm. Most were home.

 

With their families.

 

With their partners.

 

But she didn’t have that.

 

Not anymore.

 

She’d give anything to have her back. Back in her arms, back in her life. Just…back.

 

But she couldn’t have that.

 

She lost her. She lost the girl that had turned her life around. She lost her first real love. Without her, the world seemed colorless. Without her, she didn’t know who she was anymore.

 

They had been together for two years, four months, and six days. She’d always remember every single one of their milestones.

 

Unexpected cliff diving. Doughnut dates. A real date. Prom. Graduation. Getting an apartment together. Fighting hordes of aliens together.   

 

Normal relationship things, right?

 

The first time they slept over at each other’s houses. The first nightmare together. The first kiss, touch, more.

 

The first time letting them see each other cry. The first time talking the other one down from harming themselves. The first time forcing each other to therapy appointments.

 

That had really been a hallmark of their relationship near the end.

 

They were both so sick. And they knew it. They knew the flashbacks and night terrors weren’t normal. They knew the longing for death wasn’t normal. They knew that it was difficult being in a relationship where both parties had mental illnesses.

 

And eventually, that’s what drove them apart.

 

They tried to fight it together, to lean on each other. But it was a losing battle. They’d take turns digging each other out of holes but it was cyclic. The fear was constant.

 

It just wasn’t healthy.

 

So, it ended. It all ended. And here she was, looking at the flooded street below the window of their apartment. Wearing one of _her_ sweaters. Drinking _her_ favorite tea. Completely engrossed in thoughts of _her_.

 

She felt betrayed. Heartbroken. How could her girlfriend, the one she was utterly in love with, destroy her like that? Leave her all alone? Leave her crying in time with the rain and clutching at any reminder of her presence.

 

She just _missed_ her. She missed the way her hair tumbled in the breeze. The way she smelled, tasted, how soft she was. She ached for those featherlight touches again. The way she would smile softly at her across the table, the stain of doughnut glaze on her lips. How she knew every inch of her body.

 

They had caught on like wildfire. They were electric from the very beginning. A game of cat and mouse, of nervousness and walls. Of undeniable attraction.

 

Neither one had been looking for a relationship, much less something long-term, and certainly nothing so difficult. But you can’t help who you love. You can’t help who you tumble over cliffs and into love with.  

 

But here she was, over two years later and alone. Abandoned. Discarded. Wondering where she was and if she was okay. Wondering if she had made the right choice in leaving her. Wondering if she was happier now.

 

Scared for her. Sure, she was scared about herself. But even in these times, even as she struggled to move on and heal two months later, she was still thinking about her. Hoping the best for her. God, she was so head over heels in love with her. All she ever wanted was the best for her.

 

If she wasn’t the best for her, who was she to stand in the way?

 

But she still had to worry and be scared. She had to lie awake at night and picture all of the bad things that could be happening or that may have already happened to her.

 

She still worried that the other hadn’t moved on either. Of course, she wished that the other would return, would sweep into the room and straight into a hug and kiss. That she’d be able to hold her again as the tears turned from pained to overjoyed. But she cared about the other more. She cared about her and her feelings and her wellbeing way more than her own. She always had.

 

She would’ve done anything for her.

 

She still would.

 

Anything but forget her.

 

Not that it was by choice. Her therapist urged her to write letters she would never send. Express herself and allow herself to cry over her loss. For a while, she thought maybe she was making progress. Instead of outright rejecting the idea she’d at least sit down at the table with a pen in her hand. But the paper always remained empty except for the splashes of tears as her heart leapt into her throat and threatened to strangle her.

 

There’s nothing that can really prepare you to be left behind like that. For the person you love to be so far away. No contact, no goodbye. Just the pain and an old sweater to remember her by.

 

There had been more tears than she thought were possible over the last two months. She’d never been a stranger with crying, but this was a completely different level. She’d had depression for years now and she thought she had learned to cope with it but she was wrong. So very wrong.

 

When it all happened, when she left her behind in a cloud of dust, her friends had been there to help.

 

Jason held her firmly in his arms. He tried to console her with physical contact and the reassurance that she really did love her, that he didn’t know why she left. That it didn’t make sense.

 

Zack would sit with her in silence as they stared up at the night sky. They’d drink, too, and tell stories about her. They’d try to hold on to her presence in the town even though it was long gone.

 

Billy missed her, too. All of the boys did. The five of them had really become a family and they all felt abandoned. How could she walk out on them? How could she leave them all? So, Billy distracted himself with projects. He knew loss before. He became very productive, especially with his assistant. They’d stay in his workshop for hours.

 

She’d taken up smoking. She drunk a little too much. She relied on her ranger powers to protect her from her increasingly dangerous stunts.

 

Anything to feel alive.

 

When she was a teen she’d ran a blade across her skin. She lost that vice with the acquisition of the power coin.

 

She wondered if they’d ever be able to walk into the ship and not feel the abandoned coin humming with energy.

 

Alpha and Zordon were confused but uninvolved. They cared more about the safety of the coin and crystal than they did her.

 

It was heartless, but what more could you expect from a robot and an angry and embittered 65-million-year-old alien?

 

Her spot on the grid circle remained empty. It remained dusty. It remained a gaping hole in all of their lives.

 

None of them had been able to morph at first. Zack was the first to regain it, accidentally doing so while deliriously drunk. He still had to be at least buzzed to do it again.

 

Billy had been the second. He devised some kind of neural calming device and worked on selective memory theory. He had practice with his dad.

 

Jason eventually did. It took his father’s car overturning on the highway and being engulfed in flames. The lives of his entire family were at stake.

 

Her? She hasn’t morphed since. Every time she tries she’s just reminded of every little detail. Her smile, her skin, how it felt to have the power flowing between them. The way her amour clinged to every inch of her skin. Her confidence as she wore it.

 

How you couldn’t see the pain in her eyes... not that most people could in the first place. But she always could. She could take one look at those beautiful eyes and read a sea of emotion.

 

For the last few months of the relationship, they were pretty turbulent.

 

She should’ve seen this coming.

 

She should’ve done better.

 

Made her stay.

 

But she didn’t.

 

So now she gets to cry alone in a cold apartment, grasping onto the last dregs of her presence. Wishing she could go back in time and make it right. Wishing she hadn’t made those mistakes, hadn’t ignored those signs, hadn’t had so much faith in their relationship.

 

She got too comfortable. They had always said it was forever. Who was she to believe that? She should’ve known. Nobody ever stays around. Not her parents, for sure. She was used to being alone. How was she even supposed to know what a healthy relationship looked like when those were her role models?

 

They had been torn apart. And now she was in shreds on the ground, almost begging people to walk all over her.

 

It was pathetic.

 

People had been empathetic at first, but that stopped a while ago. Now she was just the girl staying too heartbroken over an ex. The one who had gotten too attached. The one who needed to grow up and snap herself out of it. Everyone had to deal with this eventually. She was young. She needed to move on.

 

But she didn’t have the strength to glue herself back together. She barely had the strength to go into therapy every other week, and that’s only because Billy always picked her up and drove her. The appointments were pretty much useless, anyway, because all she did was stare blankly at the wall and remember their pact to come there ever week to get better for each other.

 

There were too many pieces scattered on the ground and floating in the wind. She doubted she would even be able to find all of them. She doubted all of the pieces of her heart were still there.

 

Sometimes she tried to cope. They had always alternated listening to pop and metal, so that’s what she did. She willed her heart to echo the beating of the drums. A steady, rhythmic pace. Pop to make her feel upbeat, metal to express her pain.

 

But that never worked. Instead, the beating of her heart echoed the ticking of the clock as the seconds passed like hours. The sharp noise bounced around her head, piercing her ears each time.

 

So, she ended up throwing out all of the clocks. Even the digital ones. The only one left was on her phone. The phone she seldom used anymore, because what was the point if she wasn’t getting the only call that could be important to her?

 

Time seemed irrelevant when you were swimming in it anyway. The blackout curtains hid the sun and moon as best they could. The blinds were never opened except in rainstorms where the weather even remotely reflected her mood. She slept in. Or maybe she didn’t. She couldn’t tell.

 

The boys would bring food. She didn’t really leave the apartment much anymore. They tried to cheer her up but it was fruitless. They’d watch movies and eat and she’d stare blankly ahead. They’d talk about their day and she’d mumble and nod but never offer any input.

 

But they kept an eye on her. They made sure she was taking her medications and going to therapy. They kept attuned to the ranger bond. They’d randomly show up if she’d didn’t answer any calls or texts for more than a day.

 

Even since she started having issues with depression, she told herself that suicide was never an option. And it wasn’t. Not to her.

 

This was the worst she’d ever felt. The most alone, the most isolated, the most unloved she had ever felt. Abandoned, trampled, ripped apart, and destroyed.

 

But she wasn’t going to let that influence her. She knew better. She’d dug herself out of pits before. Trenches. She knew her limits. She knew what to do and when to keep herself alive.

 

No, suicide wasn’t a choice.

 

As she looked at her bedside table, she looked at the photo of the two of them sitting together on the cliff. They looked so happy together, their arms thrown around each other, their faces caught mid-laugh. It had always been one of their favorites.

 

She had broken it the day after _she_ had left. She had thrown it across the room where it slammed into the brick wall. The glass shattered and the frame splintered. The picture fluttered to the ground and landed on top of the destruction.

 

Two days later, she swept up the mess. Two days after that, after meeting up with Zack and getting drunk off her ass, she went into the 24-hour pharmacy and bought a new frame.

 

The entire thing was strangely reflective of her internal struggle. But instead of piecing herself back together, instead of buying a new frame and filling it, she was just empty. 

 

Emptier than their apartment. Emptier than the hearts of everyone _she_ had left behind when _she_ made  _her_ choice to leave them all with nothing but a bloodstain on the carpet to remember her by.

 

Staring at the reframed picture, she knew suicide wasn’t a choice.

 

No, it was all she had left.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please NEVER fall into this line of thinking. This is meant solely as a fiction piece. You are worth more. If you need convincing, you can always talk to me. If you're in the United States, you can always call 1-800-273-8255 . If you're in any other country, hotlines exist there too. And I'm serious -- my inbox is always open, here and on Tumblr.


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